by Vic Robbie
* * *
THE doors flew open with a clanging noise reverberating around the confines of the garage and they were distracted as Armand, the shopkeeper, stood in the doorway with a halo of sunlight around his head.
‘The flying boat is –’ he started then surprise registered on his broad face and he didn’t get to finish the sentence. Brown dived forward, scrambling in the dust of the floor, his hand fastening onto his discarded pistol. In one flowing movement, he took aim and fired a single round hitting Weber on the left shoulder knocking him off his feet as he dropped his knife and let go of Freddie.
Alena was screaming and Freddie was crying, and in the pandemonium Ben heard Armand shouting.
‘It’s here, the flying boat is here, you must go now. The crates are down on the dock waiting to be loaded.’
With hardly a glance at the spread-eagled body of the German, Brown was on the move galvanised by Armand’s words. ‘Come on, the plane won’t stay forever,’ he shouted.
Brown broke into a run and it was obvious he would wait for no one and he didn’t bother to look back to see if they were following.
* * *
HAWKINS and Drayton opened the sliding hatch above their heads and climbed out and sat on the wing smoking and enjoying the sun, wondering if there were somewhere they could get a beer. Hawkins promised the next time he’d take his swimming trunks and have a dip. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and the sun shimmered off the azure waters stretching all the way to the horizon. The temperature must have been in the eighties and he watched with envy the people cavorting on the beach a hundred yards away and the youths queuing to jump off the quay into the ocean.
His orders had been straightforward. The agent would be waiting for him with the cargo ready to go. Don’t hang about. No one had said how long he should wait if they weren’t there. He looked at his watch again and decided by the time he’d finished his cigarette if they hadn’t arrived he’d get the Cat out of there and head back to Poole.
He shielded his eyes against the sunlight and stared hard in every direction. There was no sign of anyone who looked like a pick-up. The only person was a teenage boy sitting in a small boat tied up alongside the quay and he wasn’t showing any interest in them.
He took his last puff and glanced all around again and flicked the cigarette end into the water.
‘Right, Jack, we’ve been stood up. Let’s get the hell out of here.’
69
BROWN sprinted down the cobbled street hollering at the top of his voice and clutched his pistol looking as if he’d shoot anyone who got in his way.
Ben bundled Alena and Freddie into the Bentley and, with Armand standing on the running board shouting directions, he reversed out of the garage taking another glancing blow to the front wing. They soon caught Brown and Ben slowed the car yelling ‘Jump on, man.’
The Bentley exploded out of the side street and across the Avenida Marginal. With Armand pointing the way, they dived down a narrow lane and across the railway line to Lisbon, without looking to see if there was a train coming, and out onto the promenade. Alena stuck her head out the window and her hair flapped like silver wings in the breeze and she was shouting ‘Wait for us.’
Just as they turned onto the quay, Ben realised their escape route was disappearing. The flying boat’s engines had kicked into life and it started drifting away from its buoy and although Brown bellowed to attract the pilots’ attention he couldn’t be heard above the roar of the engines.
On seeing them approach, Armand’s son, Christiano, started the boat’s engine and without hesitation first Brown and then Ben jumped down into the boat almost swamping it.
They were soon alongside the flying boat and Ben leapt for it grasping one of the wing struts and clinging on. He kept shouting and swinging backwards and forwards until he had enough momentum to kick the plane’s fuselage but its engines picked up and it turned away from the beach. Soon he’d have to make a decision – hang on in the hope they’d see him before taking off or let go now and drop into the water, and he couldn’t swim. Redoubling his efforts, he used his body like a pendulum to launch his feet into the side of the plane just as Brown fired his pistol into the air.
The flying boat’s engine note changed as it throttled back and a side window in the cockpit slid open and the pilot popped his head out. He looked down at Ben hanging under the wing without surprise and at Brown and Christiano on the boat and with a boyish grin drawled. ‘You must be our blind date. Blimey, mate, you left it a bit late, another few seconds and we’d have been out of here.’
With the pilots’ help, they transferred the platinum into the plane, stacking up the ingots on two wooden pallets in the middle of the cabin. Ben then instructed Christiano to return to the quay to pick up Alena and Freddie.
They were on the last leg of their journey.
The pilot questioned why there were four instead of the three he’d been ordered to pick up, but Brown soon reassured him. ‘Change of plan, old boy, they want me back at head office.’
With all of them belted in, they pushed off and started taxiing out. Feeling the gentle sway as if they were aboard a ship, the engines picked up as spray splashed the windows.
Suddenly, the aircraft lurched, dipped and slewed off course.
‘For Christ’s sake,’ the pilot was screaming. ‘Are you crazy, man, you’ll kill us all.’
Brown’s attention seemed to be more focused on the platinum, but Ben unbuckled his belt and made his way to the cockpit. A speedboat raced across their bows forcing the pilot again to take evasive action and causing the plane to rock in its wake. It was no accident. The speedboat was making a tight turn.
‘Jesus, the madman’s coming for us again,’ shouted the pilot. ‘I don’t know if I can get this crate up before he hits us.’
There were two men in the boat. One was steering and the other stood up in the bow holding on with one hand while he gripped a sub-machine gun in his right hand and held it tight against his body to steady it.
It was Weber.
‘Have you got a gun?’ Ben asked.
‘In the bow,’ replied the pilot, his eyes screwed up in concentration.
Hawkins now had the plane flat out pushing it up to the 66 knots to allow it to take off, but there was no certainty they would achieve it before the speedboat rammed them.
Weber was pumping bullets at them in an attempt to halt them in their tracks. The rounds whined and pinged all around him and he realised that even if Weber failed the speedboat could ram them causing considerable damage and incapacitate the flying boat.
He pushed past the pilots and squeezed in behind the Vickers machine gun in the bow, taking hold of the two grips and swinging the gun around until the sights were locked onto the speedboat. It was closing on them by the second and he squeezed the trigger with his thumb and the Vickers bucked into life. He kept it hard down and the gun, firing rounds at the rate of 600 a minute, swung from side to side spraying the speedboat and the surrounding sea with bullets so the water appeared to boil. The speed of the riveted ammunition belt rattling through the gun caused it to overheat and the smoke stung his eyes, but he kept firing blindly across the bows of the boat hitting the driver who fell backwards. Weber continued to return fire then as the Vickers swung around again a volley of rounds slammed into the German’s midriff. There was a puff of smoke and an explosion of red. And almost in slow motion the top half of Weber’s torso, still clutching the gun, toppled over the side as the speedboat veered off course and kept going full speed for the beach.
70
THEY were still climbing to their operational cruising height of 5,000 feet when Hawkins felt an insistent tap on his shoulder and turned to see Brown mouthing something to him.
‘What’s up, mate?’ he shouted with a friendly smile.
‘I want you to change course.’
Hawkins shook his head in puzzlement. ‘Why?’
‘New orders,’ said Brown, his eyes obscured b
y the thick lenses of his spectacles.
‘I haven’t had any new orders.’
Brown was staring, observing him.
‘I have my orders, I’m still going back to base,’ insisted Hawkins.
‘There are new orders,’ stressed Brown.
‘From whom?’
‘From me.’ Brown produced his pistol.
Hawkins shook his head and glanced across at Drayton for support. ‘Sorry, no can do.’
Drayton started unbuckling his harness and Brown pointed the gun at his head and fired at close range, spattering flesh, bone fragments and brains over the windscreen.
‘Jesus,’ Hawkins screamed making a move towards him, forgetting he was still buckled in and causing the plane to dip. ‘Why did you do it?’
‘Now, perhaps you’ll do what I tell you,’ Brown sneered, throwing him a map. ‘The route’s there. No tricks. I’ve flown one of these and it’ll make no difference to me if I have to shoot you, too.’
Brown waited until Hawkins made the necessary adjustments and the plane banked to follow its new routing.
‘What’s happening?’ asked Ben when Brown returned aft. ‘We heard a bang. Sounded as if something fell off.’
‘Nothing to worry about,’ replied Brown.
‘Then why are you carrying your pistol?’
Instead of answering, Brown walked over to Alena and gave her a twisted grin before snatching her handbag. She moved to stop him, but he shrugged her off and, opening it, removed her handgun. ‘We don’t want this little thing going off on a plane? It could be dangerous.’
Ben unbuckled himself and got to his feet. ‘What are you up to, Brown?’
‘You’ll find out soon enough.’ Brown waved the pistol at him to warn him not to come any closer.
‘There’s no need for that, we’re all on the same side.’
‘I doubt it.’
‘The pilot appears to have changed course, why?’
‘We’re heading for Lake Geneva.’
‘Oh, no,’ Alena gasped.
‘Or should I say the plane and I are. I’m going to have to make other arrangements for you.’
‘Alena has to get to England.’
Brown shrugged.
‘You – British Intelligence are expecting her.’
‘Not my problem, old boy.’ Brown chuckled.
‘Please, Mr Brown,’ Alena interrupted, ‘think of Freddie.’
‘You should’ve thought about your little bastard before you brought him into this world.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Look, I don’t give a damn about you and your sordid little secret now I have the platinum.’ And he patted the pile of bullion.
She put a hand to her mouth as if stopping herself from saying something she’d regret.
‘You’ve only got this far because of me.’ Brown looked very pleased, smirking in self-congratulation. ‘When Bernay came to us in Paris to help get the platinum out of the country, I saw an opportunity as our people were desperate to get you to London. I’d never have got the flying boat if it hadn’t been for you. I set up the whole escape and you’ve done all the hard work for me.’
Brown was enjoying the surprise on their faces.
‘Who do you think killed the grease ball at the hacienda?’
Both looked at him open mouthed.
‘I’ve been tracking your progress ever since you left Paris.’
‘What did you do with Cooper?’
Laughing even louder, Brown said: ‘Let’s just say he’s retired the service. Now I’ve got the platinum I don’t need any of you, not even the pilot. People are waiting for me at Lake Geneva. London will presume the plane’s been shot down over the Atlantic and by the time they find out what happened I’ll be long gone. I couldn’t have planned it any better even though I say it myself.’
Brown’s demeanour hardened, realising he had to get on with business, and he gestured at Ben with the pistol.
‘What do you plan to do?’
‘Well, Ben, I think it’s time for you to get off.’ Brown grinned as he slid back the cargo door, allowing a blast of air into the cabin causing them to catch their breath as the cold cut right through them.
He didn’t move.
‘Come over here.’ Brown waved the gun at him again.
He shook his head. ‘You’ll have to shoot me first.’
‘So be it. I just wanted to give you a chance. Who knows you might survive, but if I shoot you, you’ll definitely be dead.’
Still he didn’t move.
Brown sighed and turned to Alena. ‘I suppose I’m indebted to you for your help in this. So I’ll offer you a deal – if he decides to step out now, I’ll take you to Geneva and release you there. You’ll have to take your chances. At least you’ll be alive in a neutral country. If he refuses, I’ll just shoot all of you.’
Brown motioned again for him to come forward. ‘It’ll be painless, Ben. I’ll even let you wear a life jacket to give you a sporting chance.’
Just standing up was difficult as the in-rushing wind buffeted him and almost drove him backwards.
‘Come on,’ shouted Brown. ‘I haven’t got all day.’
‘How do I know you’ll keep your word?’
‘You don’t, you’ll just have to trust me.’
His mind raced. What were his options? If he refused, he’d be shot and Alena and Freddie would be killed, too. If he went out the door, he faced certain death yet there was a hope Brown might spare them.
There was also one other possibility.
The blue of the Atlantic thousands of feet below was almost hypnotic and seemed to be calling to him, whispering to him in the wind. ‘Go on jump and you’ll fly like a bird and be free. Jump now.’
He shuffled towards the open door his eyes darting about looking for anything to help him turn the tables on Brown, but he couldn’t see any kind of help.
Brown moved in behind him and he felt a hand on his shoulder and a violent push. In desperation, his hands grabbed the top of the doorframe and he clung to it wedging himself in the opening. Brown kicked his legs away and he swung out into the violent slipstream, which was as sharp as a knife. The shock of the ice-cold air froze his breathing and with the slipstream tugging at him he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer. Brown hit at his hands with the butt of the gun trying to loosen his grip and he dug his fingers into the frame and the metal cut deep into his flesh.
Suddenly, the plane banked and with a grating noise one of the wooden pallets loaded with platinum shifted and started sliding towards the opening. Alena, having released her harness unobserved, pushed the stack of platinum with both legs, accelerating its progress across the floor of the plane.
Wheeling around Brown realised what was happening behind him as the bullion hit the back of his legs pitching him off balance and causing him to fall forwards onto his knees. The loaded pallet swung round catching him in the side and propelling him towards the opening. He was regaining his balance when the plane righted itself causing him to stumble and his hands tore at the floor for something to slow his slide as his eyes burned with fear.
Ben had managed to swing his legs back inside the plane and squeezed to one side as Brown slipped towards him, his hands flailing at anything to stop himself. The agent grabbed at his jacket in desperation, catching hold of the fabric, and for a moment hope registered in his eyes. But the fabric ripped away and with a strangled cry he hurtled past him, somersaulting down to the ocean.
Alena scrambled to her feet and reached out and, wrapping her arms around him, pulled him to safety. Holding his face between her hands, she whispered ‘I almost lost you’. She embraced him and kissed him and, still shaking, he made his way up to the cockpit.
‘Where’s Brown?’ asked Hawkins.
‘I’m afraid he had to step out. Reset your course for home.’
‘Wilco, boss.’ Hawkins’ face was white with shock as he glanced at what was left of Drayton’s head.
71
THE war did not prevent boac maintaining a regular flying boat service from Poole taking mail and passengers to the rest of the Empire, including Australia and India. Pilots still had to keep a wary eye out for the sole German plane intent on a bit of sport so Hawkins asked Ben to join him in the cockpit to help look out for any possible trouble.
Ben had already dragged Drayton’s body to the back of the plane, out of sight of Alena and Freddie. He had covered him with his Irvin flying jacket and blankets and had cleared his remains from the windscreen.
As they settled down for the flight ahead, Hawkins recounted his and Drayton’s exploits, once saving twenty-four crewmen from a torpedoed merchant ship. There was no suggestion of glorying in their heroism in his monotone, and he felt it was Hawkins’ way of paying tribute to the bravery of his friend and co-pilot.
He listened, amazed someone so young could become inured to the barbarities of war, and his mind kept wandering, thinking about Alena, who was just as brave in her way, and what she faced. What was her secret and once she’d shared it would she be allowed to live in peace? They’d been through so much over the last few days his head was muddled and he was finding it impossible to concentrate on any one thing.
When Hawkins finished his story, he lapsed into silence as if there were nothing more to say and Ben went back to check Alena and Freddie, who were lying in each other’s arms in a bunk.
The further north they flew the rougher the weather was becoming and now the blue of the Atlantic was turning to a more forbidding grey.
‘Getting a bit dicey, mate,’ said Hawkins as Ben returned to the cockpit. Again Ben was struck by how young the pilot was with his wispy blond moustache looking incongruous on such a youthful face.
He nodded his agreement, wondering what lay ahead.
‘Don’t want a full blown storm now,’ added Hawkins. ‘This area can be a bit of a bugger. Had a friend on one of our biggest boats hit by a forty-foot wave and it just took out all the windows on the bridge and disabled it.’
